Lola Brandt strove to
pacify him.
"We all have our sorrows, Anastasius. Did I not lose my beautiful horse
Sultan?"
The professor sprang to his full height of four feet and dashed away his
tears with a noble gesture of his black-gloved hand.
Base slave that he was to think of his own petty bereavement in the face
of her eternal affliction. He turned to me and bade me mark her serene
nobility. It was a model and an example for him to follow. He, too,
would be brave and present a smiling face to evil fortune.
"Behold! I smile, carissima!" he cried dramatically.
We beheld--and saw his features (smudged with tearstains and the dye
from the black gloves which he obviously wore out of respect for the
deceased Santa Bianca) contorted into a grimace of hideous imbecility.
"Monsieur," said he, assuming his natural expression which was one of
pensive melancholy, "let us change the conversation. You are a great
statesman. Will you kindly let me know your opinion on the foreign
policy of Germany?"
Whereupon he sat down again upon his stool and regarded me with earnest
attention.
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